by Devney Perry
My overdramatic outburst earned me a frown, one I recognized from the countless times my father had sent a matching one my way.
Before Dakota could speak, I held up my hand. “Don’t say it. I already know what you’re thinking. Spoiled little rich girl is having a bad day because she’s had to work for a change. That’s not what this is about. This is about me realizing that I’ve spent thirty-two years on this planet and have nothing to show for myself other than a no-limit Amex. I am nothing.”
The frown on Dakota’s face disappeared as the tears kept falling.
I hated them at the moment. Later tonight, when I was alone and vulnerable, I’d savor a good cry and the chance to let it all out. But at the moment, I didn’t want to be a crier, not anymore.
Not in front of Dakota.
He took a step forward, coming right into my space. And just like he’d done in the bar earlier, he slid his hand up the curve of my jaw to cup my cheek. “Don’t say that.”
“But it’s true,” I whispered.
The magazine article had called me out as frivolous and petty. It had taken just over twenty-four hours for me to realize, despite all my efforts to change, there was truth behind that reporter’s words. What did it mean that in only a day I’d realized she was right?
Maybe I’d been living in denial about myself for too long. Maybe I’d been ignoring the criticisms and advice from my family because making a change was so hard.
Maybe I’d just been playing the role everyone had put me in.
The reason didn’t matter. My world had been turned on its head, and I could not get my bearings.
Yet with Dakota’s warm skin touching mine, not all was lost.
With his dark eyes holding mine steady, the tears just stopped. It was like he’d commanded them to cease and they obeyed.
“I’ve never had a job before,” I whispered.
“I know.”
“I don’t know how to do anything that means something. Does that make sense?”
“Yeah.” He dropped his hand. “It does.”
“What should I do?”
“Come on.” He jerked his chin to the door. “Let me pour you a drink and get you something to eat. Then I’ll teach you something else.”
“What’s that?”
“Bartenders are good listeners.”
Whether it was setting some of the tears free or Dakota’s comforting touch, I felt lighter as I came back out to the bar. Wayne sent me another smile as I returned to the seat at his side.
Then Dakota made good on his promise to pour me a drink. As he made me a vodka tonic, I memorized his steps, from pouring the alcohol to adding the tonic and squeezing in the lemon. Had I ever really paid attention to the people making my drinks before? Had I ever thanked them?
“Thank you.”
Dakota nodded as he put the drink in front of me. “Welcome.”
I sipped my cocktail, keeping Wayne company as he finished his beer. When he was done, he shook my hand good night and promised to come back tomorrow. Then he left, nearly the moment the other pair in the bar paid their tab and left too.
Which left me and Dakota alone, sharing the pepperoni pizza he’d made after our customers had gone.
The bar was quiet and the darkness had settled outside hours ago, but the clock behind the bar read only seven o’clock. I’d been here for over eight hours and we weren’t even close to the closing time listed on the front window.
“Do you always work this long?” I asked Dakota before taking my last bite of pizza. I didn’t allow myself dairy or carbohydrates during the weekdays, but I’d earned some extra calories tonight.
“Usually. Me and Jackson and Thea split the hours. But since both of them are gone, I’ll cover the place from open to close.”
I did the math and the number I came up with nearly made me choke. “That’s fifteen hours.”
The corner of his mouth ticked up in an almost smile. “Not every day. When it’s dead like this, we close up early. We’ll finish eating, give it another hour as we close things down, then call it.”
My shoulders sagged. “Good. I don’t think I can make it past midnight.”
“You did good today.”
“Don’t lie. I was a train wreck.”
He shrugged. “Could have been worse.”
“True. I could have burned the place down.”
Dakota’s entire demeanor had shifted after my crying jag in the kitchen. I hadn’t really felt like talking about my problems, so we’d sat there and let the television in the corner fill the silence with some sports newscaster show. And even though I hadn’t confessed all of my problems, he’d been right about being a good listener.
He’d heard enough in the kitchen to know that what I’d really needed was a reprieve.
So there had been no more lessons. No more cleaning instructions. No more tips on how to best deliver drinks. He’d just let me sit on this rickety stool and rest my weary bones.
God, I wanted a bed.
I’d planned on moving my things into the boathouse tonight, but that was before Thea and Logan had surprised me with their vacation. Now I was glad I didn’t have to pack up my things. I could just go back and crash in their guest bedroom.
I wasn’t even going to wash my face.
Yet as exhausted as I was, as easy as it would have been to lay my head in my arms and fall asleep on the bar, my eyes were wide open. And they were locked on Dakota.
He really was something incredible. I’d seen some rather handsome Native American men before in the city. There was an Apache gentleman I’d met last year who was becoming a go-to model for some top fashion designers.
That man had the same black hair and high cheekbones as Dakota. He was absolutely beautiful, but he lacked Dakota’s utter brilliance. The model didn’t have the same depth to his eyes, the endless black orbs that stripped you bare. He didn’t convey the same level of intimidation that was terrifying and dangerously sexy.
Watching Dakota work over the last hour had been torture. The fit of his jeans, the way his shirt strained across his biceps and chest as he moved were nothing short of erotic.
I so badly wanted to see more of his tanned, smooth skin. Just the thought of raking my nails across his bare back sent a shiver racing down my spine.
“You done?” Dakota asked, pointing to my half-empty cocktail.
“Yes, thank you.” I shuffled my empty plate and crumpled napkin, hoping Dakota hadn’t noticed me staring.
He swiped up my glass, my plate and the pizza pan, taking them all to the kitchen. I listened to the sound of him rinsing the dishes and putting them in the washer, glad to have a moment to compose myself.
And chastise myself.
Same old tricks. Wasn’t this how it always happened? I’d be feeling lonely or sad or confused, and within a week, I’d find a man who’d give me some attention. I’d find someone who would provide a distraction, like I had with both of my ex-husbands.
My first husband, Kevin, had been working as a stockbroker on Wall Street. We’d met through a mutual acquaintance my senior year in college, just a month before graduation.
At the time, I’d felt so much pressure to find a job and put my interior design degree to use. Everyone had been waiting, expecting me to make these monumental life decisions. All of my classmates had accepted offers and were planning the next stages of their lives.
But me? I hadn’t planned a thing. All I’d wanted was to get my diploma and never talk about the differences between artistic, bohemian and retro styles again.
So when Kevin had come along, he’d provided the excuse I’d been searching for. We’d fallen in love, fast and hard—at least, I had with him. He’d fallen in love with my last name. But when he’d asked me to marry him, I’d accepted immediately.
From that point on, I hadn’t had to answer questions about my future. I’d told everyone I’d start my career after the wedding.
Start to finish, my relationship with Kevin
had lasted only nineteen months before I’d come home early one day from a yoga class and found him fucking our neighbor from three doors down on the kitchen counter.
I’d recovered from that broken heart by marrying Bryson, the artist, four months later. My union to him ended just shy of our three-year anniversary, when I discovered he’d been stealing jewelry and trinkets from my parents’ and grandparents’ estates at our regular dinners. He’d been pawning them to help pay his mistress’s rent.
The ink on my divorce papers had barely dried when I’d met Jay.
Here I was again, recovering from a breakup, my self-image shredded to pieces. The first thing I’d done was latch on to my handsome companion for the next ten days.
When was I going to learn?
One thing I’d figured out from years of watching Jay play poker? All that really mattered was the number of chips in your stack. When it came to my heart, I’d been losing chips for years.
The smart thing to do would be to hoard the few remaining.
But as Dakota came striding out of the kitchen, once again holding a white towel in his long fingers, those chips were his for the taking.
Maybe he was different. Maybe I was just as foolish as ever. Maybe people didn’t really change.
All I knew was that if he asked, I’d be all in.
“Like this?” Sofia gingerly crushed the mixture of sugar, lime, mint and huckleberries with the cocktail muddler in the bottom of a glass.
“Yep. Get after it.”
She gripped the wooden tool harder as she dug in, smashing the remaining berries. “Okay, now what?”
“Fill it with ice. Shot of rum. Club soda to the top. Then stir.”
She nodded, her eyebrows set in a focused line as she concentrated on the glass and followed my instructions exactly.
I’d been teaching her how to make drinks all afternoon.
We’d started with the easy stuff, pouring draft beers and making two-ingredient drinks. But when she’d mastered those quickly, I’d started giving her more complicated cocktails. She whipped them out like she’d been working behind the bar for months, not a day.
Today had gone so differently than yesterday it was hard to believe.
After we’d eaten dinner last night, I’d left Sofia on her stool and gone back to clean up the kitchen. It had taken me less than ten minutes, but when I’d come back out, she’d been asleep on the bar with her face resting peacefully on her arms.
She was beautiful when she slept—angelic, delicate and fragile. I refused to think about the minutes I stood there watching her. Because that was fucking creepy.
I went about cleaning, wiping down tables and putting up the chairs. Then I closed out the till and finished handwashing a few straggling glasses before shaking her shoulder gently to wake her up.
She stayed in a sleepy haze as she pulled on her coat and followed me out the rear door to my truck in the alley. I helped her into the passenger side, barely closing the door before she was resting her head on the freezing glass window. She was asleep again not five hundred feet from the bar.
I didn’t even bother waking her up when I pulled into Thea and Logan’s driveway. I hustled out into the cold, found the spare key under the mat and unlocked the door. Then I collected Sofia and carried her inside, laying her on a couch and covering her with a blanket.
Her murmured good night echoed in my ears the entire drive home on the dark, snow-covered streets.
Normally, I would have crashed just as hard and fast once my head hit the pillow. Mom always said I could sleep through an earthquake. But for once, I tossed and turned throughout the night. Thoughts of Sofia kept popping in and out of my head, keeping me awake.
She was an enigma. A puzzle.
She was a woman who had everything in the world at her fingertips and yet seemed so . . . miserable and lonely. She seemed so lost.
I didn’t pity her. But I was intrigued. I ached to get closer and solve her riddle.
I ached for her.
The second the image of her long legs wrapped around my hips popped into my head, I knew there was only one way for me to fall asleep. So I took my cock in my hand and got off to the mental picture of her soft lips parting on a gasp as I slid deep inside her.
Sleep shouldn’t have been hard to find after that. But it was. Because I felt like a pervert for jacking off to thoughts of my boss’s sister-in-law, the woman I’d been entrusted to watch over.
Finally, I climbed out of bed and went to the gym I’d set up in my garage. After running five miles on my treadmill, I collapsed on my bed and passed out until my alarm blared through the room at ten the next morning.
Showered and dressed, I drove over to pick up Sofia.
I was certain she’d still be asleep, but when I pulled into the driveway, she was waiting just inside the door.
She seemed almost eager as she hopped into the truck. Maybe she was just a morning person. Maybe the shock of her situation had faded, and she’d found a better attitude.
I hadn’t asked. I’d just enjoyed the ride.
And praised the fucking heavens there hadn’t been any more tears.
Her excitement carried us through the lunch hour and into our bartending lessons. Sofia finished stirring her huckleberry mojito and added a lime wedge. Then she dunked a straw into the glass and handed it over.
I brought it to my lips and took a sip. “Tastes like a huckleberry mojito.”
She smiled. “Thank god.”
I pulled out my straw, putting a new one in its place, then handed over the glass. “Give it a try.”
As she took the drink from my hands, I looked away. I’d made the mistake earlier in the day of watching as she sipped from a straw, and I’d had to excuse myself so she wouldn’t notice the growing bulge behind my zipper.
“It’s really good. Sweeter than a regular mojito with the huckleberry.”
“They’ll be popular tomorrow night.” There were about ten ladies around Lark Cove who ordered one of my huckleberry mojitos every time they came in.
“What’s next?” Sofia dumped out the drink and rinsed the glass.
“What’s your favorite drink?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know if I have one.”
“Really?” Fancy women like her always seemed to have a signature drink.
“I don’t like beer,” she told me.
“Why am I not surprised?”
Sofia’s eyes twinkled as she giggled. “I like drinks with citrus tones. Or champagne.”
“Then tomorrow night you’ll be in charge of champagne.”
“What?” Her eyes widened. “You’re going to let me serve drinks?”
“Uh . . . yeah. That’s kind of why you’re here, isn’t it?”
“I-I don’t know. I didn’t think you’d actually give me important things to do.”
“Then what did you expect me to have you do?” Maybe she’d thought I’d just have her chasing down empties all night.
“I don’t know,” she muttered, toying with a spoon on the bar. “Maybe take out the garbage. Or clear dishes. Hand out peanuts. Stuff that doesn’t matter when I mess it up.”
I blinked twice as her words soaked in. Then I considered kicking my own ass. I’d been such a dick yesterday, criticizing her every move in an attempt to hide my attraction. But she wasn’t useless. And when I wasn’t harping on her, she picked things up quickly.
“You’re good at this,” I told her. “Not gonna lie and say it didn’t surprise me. But you’re a fast learner. I could use your help during the party.”
“You really think so?”
“Wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”
The look on her face said she didn’t really believe me. How was that possible? Logan was one of the most confident people I’d ever met. It rolled off him in waves. But his younger sister was a damn mess of self-doubts.
Was I the only one who saw this? How could that be?
Maybe others didn’t see past the front.
They couldn’t look beyond the sexy clothes, fancy hair and stunning face.
But I saw underneath that superficial layer to a woman who was questioning everything at the moment. Thea had mentioned something about a magazine article. Had it shaken her up? Or had it just exposed the insecurities she’d been hiding from the world?
“Huh.” Her eyebrows furrowed. “I guess all those years spent at dinner parties and galas wasn’t for nothing. I’ve seen so many drinks mixed before, maybe I’ve picked up more than I realized.”
“That’s not the reason.”
She was smart. Smarter than she gave herself credit for.
I’d taught a few people how to mix drinks before, and they always needed a few reminders about the ingredients before they had it down. But not Sofia. For her, I only had to list them once.
“Well, I’ll do whatever you need me to tomorrow.” She filled up a glass of water and added a couple lime slices. “But promise to tell me if I get in the way.”
“Promise.”
She smiled and walked around the edge of the bar.
I dropped my eyes, not letting my gaze wander down her legs.
She was wearing a pair of tennis shoes today that I’d seen Thea wear a hundred times. They were forgettable when my boss wore them. But on Sofia, those shoes accentuated the tight fit of her jeans, which were only slightly less sexy than the leather pants she’d been in yesterday. Didn’t she own anything looser?
I studied the fruit tray as she slid onto a stool across from me. I’d cut twice the limes as usual this morning while I’d been doing prep because yesterday I’d noticed that she liked them in her water. Why? Because I was a good bartender, that’s why. It had nothing to do with the woman with another goddamn straw to her mouth.
“How did you learn all of this?” she asked.
“It’s kind of a long story.”
“I’ve got nine days left on my sentence, so you have time.”
I chuckled and filled a water glass of my own. “I grew up on a reservation about two hours away from here. After I graduated high school, I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do so I took a job working at a casino in town, dealing poker.”
